Marge Fisher popped up by their sides, apparently oblivious to the tense moment. “Come to see the excitement too? I know it’s terrible, but my sons wanted to come and look at it. They’re fascinated by firefighters. My husband will have to have a serious talk with them when we get home, or they will try to burn down something themselves. They don’t listen to me when I try to explain dangers. They just say girls are scared of everything.”
“Excuse me, I want to talk to some people who saw what happened.” Michael nodded curtly at Marge and walked off.
“Short fuse,” Marge said. “Or did I interrupt something important? I’m sorry if I did.”
“No, no,” Vicky said vaguely, following Michael’s movements. He mingled with the onlookers, exchanging a few words here and there, foremost listening to what was being said. Locals were still arriving on the scene, notified by their friends that something was up. Scanning their curious expressions, Vicky was reminded of Diane’s words about a criminal returning to the place of the crime to see the result of his action. Was the arsonist among the crowd? The idea put goose flesh on her arms.
Gwenda Gill was in the back of the crowd, watching the blackened remains with a thoughtful expression as if her mind was working out something. Knowing her ex had been so interested in those old police files, Vicky wondered if Gwenda knew why.
Too bad she was on such bad terms with the former beautician, else she could have gone over and asked some innocent questions about it. Now she need not even try. Gwenda wouldn’t give her the time of day. She firmly believed that Vicky had stolen her beauty parlor away from her.
A sheriff department’s Jeep came tearing up, and Cash Rowland climbed out with a young deputy in tow. He said something about having lent assistance at a bad bar fight in a nearby town. His tone was emphatic as he said, “Sad how violent some people get when they have had too much to drink.”
He barely seemed to notice Vicky as he marched past Marge and her to go talk to the firefighters’ commander.
“I had no idea we had bar fights around here,” Vicky said.
Marge shrugged. “I suppose that there are those roadside cafes with beer-for-a-buck nights that draw in a certain type of crowd. Once they’ve spent their twenty bucks for the night, or the bartender says they’ve had enough, the furniture starts flying.”
“Before ten in the evening?” Vicky was skeptical.
Marge looked her over. “What are you thinking?”
Vicky sighed. “I don’t know. I’m probably just tired.” She hoped Michael wouldn’t go on ram course with Cash, trying to prove he wasn’t taking appropriate action to safeguard the scene of the fire for investigation into the possibility of arson.
Marge leaned over and whispered, “My guess would be that our good sheriff doesn’t want to admit he’s late to the action because he and his deputy were playing cards with friends. But anyway…I’d better go round up the boys. They should have been in bed by now. You want to say hi to them and my husband? They’ve already heard a lot about you and your store.”
“Sure.”
They found Marge’s boys—two redheaded bundles of energy like their mom—entertained by a firefighter who demonstrated his protective suit. A giant of a man with dark curls was watching the scene with a wide smile.
Marge introduced him as Kevin, and he shook hands with Vicky. “Nice to meet you.”
“I also sat in the cabin of the fire truck,” the youngest boy called triumphantly. “I held the wheel!”
Despite Marge’s reminder of bedtime, they were reluctant to leave their new hero, and Marge had to promise that they’d come to the open house at the fire station soon, to see all the trucks and get a chance to handle the hose themselves and try to hit a moving target.
At that prospect the boys immediately wanted to go home to call their grandmother about their exciting experiences. They grabbed Marge’s hands and tried to pull her along. “I’ll be at the store the next few days to help out,” Marge promised Vicky. “Kev could lend a hand too, painting those walls.” She nodded at her husband as if giving him a cue.
Kevin Fisher said, “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll bring my own gear. No need to buy any new stuff.”
“Great,” Vicky said. “I have a student who cleaned the oak beams for me and I have paint for the walls, but I was reluctant to buy all the gear. If you bring yours, you can both use it.”
“Kev can do the pantry a nice ocean blue,” Marge said.
“Great idea,” Vicky agreed. “But I really want to tackle that fireplace first. The breaking will cause a lot of dust, which isn’t practical with wet paint around, you know.”
“The breaking part of the job can’t take more than a few hours,” Kevin said.Marge supplied, “If Mortimer starts on it at eight, he can be done by lunch break and continue with the restoration bit after lunch. Kevin can start painting around one-thirty, I guess. Tomorrow is your afternoon off from work, right, honey?”
Without waiting for a reply she continued to Vicky, “And didn’t you say you were expecting some delivery tomorrow at five?”
“Yes, my sideboards. I decided to take two matching ones. And some leather chairs to go in front of that fireplace once it’s done.”
“Fabulous. If that student helps out, they can be done painting by the time the sideboards and chairs arrive. Of course you can’t put anything into place as long as the walls are wet, but at least you won’t have to worry about painting anymore.”
Vicky nodded. “That would be a relief. There’s still enough left to tackle.”
Marge stretched her neck as if spying for someone. “Why don’t you ask Mortimer right now?” she urged. “There he is, just arrived on the scene.”
She pointed to the dented van that halted along the road. “I suppose he is not in the loop anymore, or he would have heard about the fire sooner. Uh-oh. Gwenda saw him too and is sailing down on him to give him an earful. Those two can’t be in the same room or they are at each other’s throats. We’d better go over quickly, before he flees. Kev, you take the boys to the car. I’ll be with you soon, OK?”
Kevin nodded and took the boys along, while Marge and Vicky made their way over to the former spouses.
As they came up on them, Vicky overheard Gwenda saying in a hiss, “Trust me, if I find out you made a dime off this scam, I will make sure it goes to me. The easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”
The viciousness behind the words made it sound a lot like a threat.
Spotting Vicky and Marge, Gwenda straightened up. “What are you looking at? Mind your own business!”
She stalked away to where her blue mountain bike lay against a tree trunk. Her poodle waited beside it, nervous with the stench of smoke and the crowd nearby.
Gwenda was known to cycle around town every night to exercise her dog and burn calories. She grabbed the bike, jumped on it and sped off, not once looking back. The dog ran after her, wagging its pom-pom tail.
Mortimer jerked open the door of his van. He looked ready to dive behind the wheel and go after his ex-wife to run her down. His jaw worked hard, and the veins on his temples stood out.
“Seems like Gwenda is steamed about something,” Marge said innocently.
Mortimer shrugged. “Nothing new. As soon as I’ve got a job someplace, she comes over and tries to squeeze me for money. She never thinks she’s getting enough alimony, you know. Complains she can’t even afford to buy dog food. But I’m not giving her another dime. She accused me of having written those letters about her product doctoring, and people blamed me for it and don’t want to hire me no more. That’s her fault. She’d better find herself another sucker to take care of her and that ugly